


Spring Break

by Zhie



Series: Eagle's Ridge University [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, M/M, Professors, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 04:59:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14465556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: At Eagle's Ridge University, it's almost time for Spring Break.





	Spring Break

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AndiiErestor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndiiErestor/gifts), [Dalandel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalandel/gifts), [Ulan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulan/gifts).



> This is based on Ulan's inspirational drawing found here: <https://glorfindel-of-imladris.tumblr.com/post/173327832974/erestor-and-glorfindel-professors-au-requested>, as well as conversations with the Pillow Fort Society of Glorestor Studies, sorry not sorry.

“No talking,” warned the man in the three piece grey suit as a brown plastic tray was set down in front of him. There was a tablet propped up on the table, and a little wifi keyboard being used with such intensity that the salt and pepper shakers bounced a little in their holder off to the side.

A second tray was placed on the surface. The bearer of the food loosened his tie and scrutinized the situation. “Is that another grant?”

“Shh… Yes. Due before five. Hush, now.” The tapping on the keyboard increased in volume and speed as the second man slid down to sit on the bench beside the first. 

“Do you really need another grant to manage?” Sugar packets were tapped before they were torn open, and coffee was fixed for both of them, for it was evident that the focused occupant of the booth nearest to the doors of the Eagle’s Ridge University cafeteria had no intention of stopping for anything he deemed unnecessary to his task. “Eat something,” directed the second, and only then did the first reattached the tablet and keyboard, snapped them shut, and pulled the tray closer. “I appreciate your dedication to the department, Erestor, but what happened to taking a vacation this summer?”

“Vacations are overrated.” Erestor picked up the plastic fork and poked at the eggs on the paper plate. “Besides, why would I ever go anywhere else when I can dine on such quality offerings found here, Fingon?”

Fingon pressed his lips together to keep the bite of toast he had been chewing on from escaping, swallowed, and finally laughed. “If you do not schedule something, Mae and I will drag you with us.”

“Where are you going?” asked Erestor.

“Disneyw--”

“Ew.”

Fingon chuckled again. “Pick a place, Erestor. There has to be some… half-deserted island with little-known culture that you want to go study that has a beach where you can relax for at least a few hours or something.”

“You know that you cannot actually make me…” Something caught Erestor’s eye, and he turned his head and groaned. “Shit.”

Now Fingon was curious and scanned the doorway to the line, where students and a smattering of faculty and staff collected bland meals on disposable plates. “What?”

Erestor stabbed at his eggs again before he stuck the shiny, white utensil in the direction of a tall blond in a blue sweatshirt and jeans. The man in the line was joking with a group of students. It was obvious he was older than they were, but he otherwise blended in with those early risers who made it to the cafeteria before eight. “Him.”

“I think I’ve seen him before… is he one of the janitorial staff?” 

Erestor snorted. “He is a… professor.” The word was spat out as if a profanity, and Erestor dropped his fork on the tray and pushed it away.

“Not one of mine, though,” noted Fingon, who now gazed across the room with curiosity. “Whose department does he belong to?”

“Take a guess,” grumbled Erestor.

“Mmm.” Fingon stirred his coffee before he took a sip. “Turgon is far too lax with his staff. Did you know that Salgant let twenty-some students stay in the music building after hours without supervision the other night? Someone got in and stole a timpani -- probably one of the frats on campus. I do hope we recover it -- those things are expensive. That never would have happened when I was teaching those classes.”

“Oh, crap, he is coming this way,” Erestor hissed.

“Because we’re sitting by the door, and everyone comes this way?” Fingon turned his head slightly. “And if you stop looking at him, he will likely pass right by.”

“Good morning, gentlemen!” A cheerful tenor broke into the whispered words of the private conversation as the blond, tray in both hands, approached them. “Spring break is nearly upon us! It’s so good to see so many young minds sticking it out through the end of this week. I had been warned that many skip Wednesday onward, and begin their southern sightseeing early. Are either of you partaking in a little holiday by chance?”

“Spring break does not mean a shirking of duties by the staff,” answered Erestor, quite a bit louder than he intended or Fingon would have liked, being that he was sitting so close and had yet to awaken properly. “I, as all others who respect academia, will he here, hard at work, in my office.”

“Oh, of course,” replied the blond. “I just, uhm, I saw the memo about the week that explained that staff needed to submit holiday waivers if they would be gone, but that faculty could, if they wished, hold office availability online. That sort of thing isn’t really for me,” he hastily explained. “This is a very crucial time for some of the seedlings in the greenhouse, and with most of the interns gone on Spring Break, I assume I’ll need to tend to the plants more than usual.”

“Perhaps next year you should be more firm about potential vacations, to be sure that you do not have too many interns overlapping. I require my teaching assistants to remain available during the interim and all scheduled breaks, for that is when the workload is the greatest,” explained Erestor.

“Oh… yes, that seems sound. Forgive me; I’m quite new to all of this. Things were much different at the technical institute I was previously at. And you, sir?” asked the blond, regaining his cheerful demeanor. “Have you plans for break?” 

Fingon motioned to an open seat at the table. “Please; your food will get cold if you do not eat, and there is plenty of room here.” This offer from Fingon was rewarded with bulging eyes from Erestor, though he said nothing, and the blond took up the invitation with many thanks. Once he was seated, Fingon spoke again. “I am in administration. I have no leave to be on leave, excepting two weeks per summer and one during the bridge from Christmas to New Year’s Day. That said, I will get to see my son on Easter Day, which I am looking forward to immensely.”

“Oh! I had no idea! Good for you! On the administration part, that is. And, of course, to spending time with family.” The blond looked to Erestor as he pushed his sleeves up to his elbows. “You’re not an administrator, though, are you?”

“No, of course not. You know I am a Professor, you--” Erestor cleared his throat to keep himself in check. The word ‘idiot’ felt appropriate, and yet, not in front of a friend, colleague, and coincidentally, his boss. “You met me at the faculty orientation.”

“Orientation… orientation… oh! Yes! Professor Sullivan,” answered the blond.

“Dr. Sullivan,” corrected Erestor.

“Of course. Dr. Sullivan. My apologies.” The blond, who had been covering his bagel with cream cheese, now wiped his hands and extended one to Fingon. “Glorfindel LaFleur. No PhD or other fancy letters before or after my name, I’m afraid.” 

“Oh, but you have your masters, I’d wager,” said Fingon, and to this, Glorfindel nodded. “Well, then, that is two degrees up on most of the rest of the world. Did you know that on average only one in one hundred persons in the entire world graduate college on any level? Be proud of your accomplishments. And I am Kano King, Associate Dean in Liberal Arts. No PhD, either,” he said warmly, and Glorfindel smiled. “In fact,” Fingon said as he let go of Glorfindel’s hand and picked up his coffee again, “I should be the one still teaching, and this one here should be in my place.”

“Untrue. I am most effective for the university in my current position. If and when that changes, I will welcome whatever placement the Board of Regents sees fit to bestow upon me,” said Erestor, back to working on his grant.

Fingon shook his head and addressed Glorfindel once again. “How is the new greenhouse? It was most unfortunate that Professor Greenleaf left us right at the completion of it, considering all of his input in the layout, but I trust his plan was suitable for your teaching needs?”

“The greenhouse is spectacular! I’d live in it if I could,” said Glorfindel. “I was most impressed by the mezzanine and the running water and restroom facilities within it. It’s a beautiful structure.”

“I should hope so -- I think it cost about eight million to build. All donor money, of course,” said Fingon.

“Eight million -- oh, my! How will the university ever recapture the funding from that?” asked Glorfindel.

Fingon waved off the concern. “Look around the facility. There are name plates on everything. Alumni and philanthropists will fund academic projects quite easily. The only costs we incurred were for supplies -- dirt, seeds, tools, and the like -- all things built into the budget already.” One of Fingon’s braids, held back from his face, escaped the binding the rest were in, and he pushed it back over his ear. “Don’t worry about that project. We’re spending roughly 160 million next summer to build a new dormitory, parking structure, and athletic building. Your greenhouse is an essential part of the college’s mission.”

“And a dormitory with a fountain in the foyer is not,” announced Erestor.

“I like fountains,” said Glorfindel. “They remind me of summer; water cannot flow in the winter months.”

“You must be a summertime person,” assessed Fingon. “Warmth and growth, and everything in bloom. Not that I mean to stereotype,” he said. “I just suspect few horticulturalists look forward to winter.”

“Right you are,” said Glorfindel. “However, with such a splendid greenhouse, there shall be growth all year long. At the technical institute I was previously at, the greenhouse was only half-functional. The other half had so many missing windows and lacked heat, so we turned it into a storage shed, but it was infested with rats and snakes and we spent more time outsmarting them than we did teaching sometimes. I feel so very blessed to have been hired here. This semester has been so refreshing -- not a single person has threatened me or tried to rob me on my way to campus.”

Erestor looked up now, and he and Fingon exchanged a glance before Erestor asked, “How often did that happen?”

“Oh… it seemed like once or twice a semester. I had my bike stolen the first year I was there, and after that I brought it into the greenhouse to keep it safe. Usually if they pulled a knife on me, I could subdue them, but guns are another thing altogether. That happened twice before I started to look for another position elsewhere. It was never anyone on campus, mind you -- everyone there wanted to do well and better their situations, but… different people have different motivations. We had a security guard at the door of our library because people who were not students would come in and steal books to sell on Amazon so they could use the money to buy drugs. I really like that there are no metal detectors at the doors here. It makes the campus seem cozy.”

“Yes, it does,” said Fingon quietly after a moment.

“I like all of the student activities, too,” added Glorfindel. “The Horticulture Club is gonna have a plant sale after spring break to fund the trip to the home and garden show they have planned for the end of the semester. It hardly seems like I’ve been here as long as I have -- I feel as if just yesterday the semester was beginning, and now I have final projects assigned! Time really flies when you’re having fun!”

“How true,” agreed Fingon. “That’s what I miss about the teaching, but then, I remind myself that anyone who is a true teacher never truly stops teaching, and my job now is to teach the teachers through coaching and appraisals. It would be nice to step into a classroom and lecture some days, though.”

Glorfindel frowned. “How long have you been in administration, if you don’t mind my asking?” 

“Just about nine months now,” said Fingon. “The transition was much easier than I expected, but sometimes my days lag when all I do is attend meetings.” 

Glorfindel finished his bagel and licked the excess cream cheese from his fingers. “I need to be off to class, but it was wonderful to meet you,” he said to Fingon.

“Likewise,” said Fingon.

Glorfindel stood up and then looked to Erestor. “And it was good to see you again, Er-- um, Prof--Dr. Sullivan.”

Fingon looked over when there was no response, and saw Erestor busily typing away. He cleared his throat and gave Erestor a nudge.

“What?” Erestor looked up. “Oh. Leaving already?”

“I must get to class,” said Glorfindel. “Shall I take your trays for you?” he offered as he removed a paper cup of herbal tea from his own and set it aside on the table.

“I would not want it to be a bother,” said Fingon.

Glorfindel shook his head. “No trouble at all!” He waited until Fingon moved his cup of coffee from the tray, and then heaped all of the garbage onto one in order to slide the other beneath. As he began to reach for Erestor’s tray and discarded refuse, Erestor pulled it closer.

“I can tend to my own tray, thank you.”

“Oh. Alright,” responded Glorfindel. He offered a smile, but it quickly faded as he took the two trays to the bright red garbage can.

“That was rude,” commented Fingon. “He is new, and he does not seem so bad.”

“He dresses like a slob,” countered Erestor.

“Appearances can be deceiving. You thought I was in a gang when you first met me.” Fingon reminded him as across the room, Glorfindel carefully separated trash and food waste from recyclable materials and placed everything in the correct bins.

“Gang… metal band… how much of a difference is there, really?” asked Erestor.

“Give the poor man a chance, Erestor. Can you imagine if your day-to-day fear was not whether or not an accreditation meeting would run over by fifteen minutes, but if someone would try to kill you over a bicycle?”

Erestor gave a heavy sigh as he looked across the room and watched Glorfindel pull a few items others had dumped into the waste bin out and relocate them into the recyclable container. “Fine.” Erestor slid out of the booth and picked up his own tray, which he marched to the same location where Glorfindel stood. Glorfindel immediately stepped clear of the bins once Erestor arrived. After depositing everything in the correct bins, Erestor set the tray onto the pile that was there. “Sorry,” he said curtly.

“Um… alright,” responded Glorfindel as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“I apologize for my behavior. I have a grant proposal due this afternoon, and have not the time for pleasantries today.”

“Oh! Oh, no worries,” answered Glorfindel. “Grants are serious. I wrote one once so that we could start a water garden for the runoff at a community center where I used to volunteer.”

“This one is worth 1.2 million, spread out over three years, and would fund six interns and a coordinator for the college, as well as significant research,” explained Erestor.

“Wow - that is impressive. A lot more impressive than rocks and plants,” said Glorfindel with complete sincerity. “I think the Dean is right -- you probably should be in administration here. I hope administration knows how valuable you are to the university.”

Erestor rubbed his chin, for it seemed to him that Glorfindel was blushing now, and looking down shyly. He felt his own cheeks suddenly felt warmer, for Glorfindel seemed awfully close, and when had the last time been that he had had a conversation with a colleague (other than Fingon, who tolerated him far more than he should) last this long without verbal cruelty from both parties? “They leave me alone when it comes to my research, and that is enough for me.”

“I have been thinking about writing a grant to study phosphorescent plants -- I think bioluminescence is a plausible replacement for lighting at night, and I think it would be an excellent project for the students here. Perhaps I might stop by your office some time and ask your advice on my proposal, though, I am sure you are terribly busy all the time, so if it would be too much to ask, please do not feel obligated to indulge me.” Glorfindel bit his bottom lip as he awaited the answer.

Research was a passion Erestor could not turn aside, and so after another few moments of rubbing his chin, he gave a curt nod. “Send me an email and we can set up a meeting,” he offered. 

“Oh, thank you! I look forward to speaking to you in the future! Have a good day,” said Glorfindel hastily, and Erestor gave only a nod, which seemed more than enough to put a smile on Glorfindel’s face. 

As Erestor returned to the table, he noticed the third beverage left there. He turned around and gave another sigh when he noticed that Glorfindel was gone from the cafeteria. “The fool left his drink,” he remarked.

“You should take it to him,” said Fingon. When Erestor frowned, Fingon chuckled and stood up. “I can do it. It gives me leave to wander into the sciences building and spy on my brother’s domain. Are you still stopping by tomorrow to pick up that set of encyclopedias Mae found in the attic?”

“Of course. I never miss an appointment.”

“It’s a social call, Erestor, not a departmental meeting,” Fingon reminded him. He picked up his own beverage and Glorfindel’s. “See you tomorrow. Don’t work too hard, alright?”

“Too late,” replied Erestor as he returned to his grant.


End file.
